Or: That time I felt bad about myself while walking past an iconic building on the way home.

A few days back, I managed to get into my head while walking home from work, right as I passed Sacre Coeur (name drop!). This isn’t new for me; in fact, me getting into my head a lot is a recurring theme in my life. But this time, it was while I was living a life that many people are jealous of.

I had somehow managed to convince myself — if only for a few minutes — that people here were being nice to me only because they had to be, and that I was being a burden on them.

Of course, that explains why April has invited me everywhere: because she feels she has to. And why Liam had dinner with me as often as he did before leaving for home: same thing. And why Florent would invite me out for drinks with fellow co-workers: Because he wanted them to laugh at me all at the same time. And why my colleagues ask if I can help out with tough assignments: Because they can’t wait to see me fail.

Sounds absurd, doesn’t it? And it should. April and Liam call me up because they’re happy to have me around. Floret invited me out because he wants me to do well in the job, and wants me to meet people. And my co-workers ask for my help because they trust me.

My inner saboteur, on the other hand, seems to think that all of this is perfectly logical.

I know that inner saboteur is going to show up again. And probably again and again. Fortunately, I’ve learned how to deal with that person. And the approach is not what I thought it would be.

I confronted that person. I envisioned that person, and had a conversation with them: “Why would these people go through all that trouble? Instead, these people happen to like you. That’s all. Now, Mx. Saboetur, I do appreciate your input, and sometimes, you are right to raise the alarm. But now is not one of those times.” That quieted my inner saboteur down for now.

Before I go further, this isn’t a pity post. This isn’t about getting people to tell me how much they love me (so don’t even think about it right now; I’ll let you know when you can gush all over me). This post is about providing unsolicited advice to everyone out there who’s suffering in silence at the hands of that inner saboteur.

The worst thing you can do is believe them.

The second-worst thing you can is ignore them. Because they will not go away if you do that. They only get louder and louder.

Instead, what I’ve found works is two-fold: Engage that inner saboteur, and see how you can turn their skills to your advantage. And second, for the love of no deity in particular, talk about it. Your friends — that is, the friends who are actual friends — will help you through this. And might even have stories of their own that’ll help you see that you’re not alone in this. This happens to everyone, even if you’ve been taught that it happens to no one.

When you talk about these feelings, you do two things: You help yourself, and you help shake the stigma that’s attached to discussions of mental health. Does this mean you must talk about these thoughts you’re having? No, of course not. Do that only if you’re comfortable enough to do so. But I found, when I went through an episode of depression a couple of years back, that talking about it yielded an unexpected result: Others opened up to me about their bouts of depression.

That helped me realize that having these thoughts didn’t make me a bad person.

They just make me a person. Full stop.

So instead of caving into that person, or denying that person exists, I’m now listening and replying to that saboteur. Sometimes, the saboteur has a point; sometimes, it doesn’t. But dismissing it out of hand does you no favours, as does believing it uncritically. Learning how to use that saboteur to my advantage has been extremely empowering.

But not as empowering as talking to people about the struggle.

You’re not alone. And you got this. Take that voice inside your head with a grain of salt, and use the useful parts of that fear to your advantage. Then tell us the story of how you did it. We really do want to hear.

How do you deal with your inner saboteur? Let us know in the comments below.

I live a good walk away from work. Normally, this means that I wear a T-shirt and shorts into the office, where I change.

On Monday, I forgot the pants. And with a slew of calls, I couldn’t escape to buy a pair of long pants until early afternoon.

But I did, and they’re quite nice. However, they’re currently sitting in the closet at work. That’s by choice.

Because now, I have an emergency pair of pants ready to go.

It’s been a busy week. I got a bank account opened. I also got renters’ insurance.

I needed that because I found a place, within five days. Thanks to the amazing April. (Unpaid promotion time: when in Paris, contact April. She’ll be able to show you the town in a way that few can, with her amazingly wonderful tours. Find out more at https://www.aprilinparistours.com/ .)

She put me in touch with her landlord, who was looking for a tenant.

And I completely lucked out. It’s in Montmartre, mere steps from Sacre Coeur. And it overlooks Artists’ Square. Down sides: Lots of tourists, and groceries are far away. Plus side: This is what I wake up to:

You can imagine how Parisian I felt when I saw this and heard an accordion playing in the background. Also, the Dali museum is steps away, and as a fan of the surreal, you know I’m going to be there often.

It’s a nice studio, which needs some furniture. Surprisingly, the Ikea in the city is … well, shoddy. It has nothing that you might normally expect to find. Ah well, I still have this view.

Oh, and these views when I walk less than five minutes:

Couple that with another good week at work, and so far, Paris has been very kind to me.

Plus, as Danielle said, walking uphill home from work is bound to make my ass look great before too long. And that’s important, you know.

Funny thing happened on the way to work the other day. Well, it was terrifying until it was funny.

My walk to work takes me past some big embassies, like the UK and the US. That means the road is inhabited by police with machine guns.

So you can imagine my horror when one of them started yelling at me. I thought I had stepped into a forbidden zone. I was getting ready to say goodbye to freedom and such.

Then he made the universal sign for “Your fly is undone.”

He laughed. I laughed. My ego laughed. Then my ego turned bright red.

However, it’s nice to know that being stylish here is the law.

And before anyone asks: Yes, that was a gun in his pocket. Although he did seem happy to see me.

This easy access to champagne is going to be dangerous.

In the first few days, it’s been almost nonstop champagne. At these prices, why not?

But tomorrow, it’s down to work. Or back to work, more accurately. I’m actually looking forward to this. The office seems really nice, and I’m eager to continue with the projects I’ve been working on.

It was also great to see some familiar faces in the first few days here. April and Liam, you two are godsends.

This weekend didn’t allow for too much exploration, given the nonstop downpours. But I have lots of time for that, don’t I?*

*Assuming no nuclear war or asteroid strike.

With a nod to Star Trek: Discovery for that title. And WARNING: Spoilers ahead.

So this is it. I’m in the business class lounge. The company is paying for this, and I’m taking full advantage of it — wouldn’t want to waste their money, after all. With the food and drink, I should be okay until my flight.

That’s important, because these past few days were bloody hard. I gave away or sold virtually everything I own. I just have about 15 boxes of stuff in storage, and that’ll decrease as I have things shipped.

As it turns out, getting rid of your life is hard.

Saying see you later to virtually everyone you love — one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do. Toronto is the only city I’ve ever known. Where most of the most important moments of my life happened. My first half-marathon. My MBA. My first kiss. My first step.

My first Grindr hookup. Yes, I know it’s TMI, but I need to laugh a little, and I don’t care.

Before I go too far, I need to send out a special thank to Josh and Erfan for helping with the move when I clearly was not ready (and for so much more), and to my sisters and brothers-in-law for all the help they’ve given me, not just with this, but in my life. And to Connie and Cody — who drove eight hours just to say goodbye.

And, as I discovered in the past few weeks, the number of friends and colleagues who truly care about me is astonishing. I’m so happy to have all of you in my life.

Now, I know this move is the right thing to do, but 42+ years of memories and friends and experiences and family … yes, I cried, and I cried a lot. No apologies.

I will be back. We all know this. But for the moment, I’m very emotional.

Come this time tomorrow, however, my new life begins. I’m Terrified. And Excited. And Nervous. You could say it’s TENs across the board. (Okay, I’ll go stand in the corner of the lounge and think about what I’ve done.)

I kind of feel like Burnham and Discovery at the end of season 2. (This is where the spoilers come in; stop reading here if you don’t want to know what happens in Discovery.) The only difference is, well, the wormhole will open pretty much on demand for me.

I just started crying watching that video. That’s how emotional I am.

https://youtube.com/watch?v=zF3hGhLKUQI

Appropriately enough, that song is by Europe.

I’ve already started the hardest part of all this: the goodbyes. Five good friends have bid à la prochaine, and tomorrow will be the hardest part, when the majority say goodbye. This is both at work and at the going away.

I’ve cried. I’ll cry a lot more. And I won’t get a chance to say goodbye to everyone.

I guess it’s a good thing that burning my Canadian passport at the airport isn’t a requirement of this.

In the meantime, here’s the song that seems to be describing my life at the moment.

The good news is that I didn’t have nearly as much crap as I thought I did. The bad news is that it’s proving difficult to get rid of the crap I do have.

Suffice it to say, I’m annoyed with people who say they’ll take something and flake out. But I guess it’s a good life lesson: You really can’t trust too many people.

Anyway, enough of that. The most challenging items to get across will be the artwork. I have bubble wrap for them, and I’ll see about getting a cardboard box for extra security, but two or three of the pieces of art will have to come in my suitcase. They’re too valuable to ship by box otherwise.

As for the other stuff: Well, everyone is about to be the beneficiary of my generosity all of a sudden.

Now as for all this stuff I’m getting rid of: Will I really miss it? I’m beginning to think no.

People have told me for a long time that I should blog.

People are weird.

But now that I’m moving to another continent, it seems like a good time to start one of these things up.

My name is Miguel, and I’m XX years old. (You never ask a lady her age, of course.) On a messageboard a long time ago, I used to be known as Canuckistan, because it was intended to be an insult toward Canadians, but it ended up encapsulating who I am very well — very liberal socially and utterly ridiculous otherwise.

Born and raised in Toronto, I have a habit of getting involved in very strange, very entertaining situations. And I now have the opportunity of a lifetime — a promotion and transfer to Paris!

Naturally, I’m excited and terrified and scared and excited and terrified and scared. Did I mention excited and terrified and scared?

Through this blog, I’ll be sharing my journey as I start a new life in the City of Love. Will I finally find true love? Will I paint the town pink during my adventures? Will I eat too much cheese and drink too much wine?

Well, one out of three is a certainty.